What's Next?

Maegan got here the night before last. She got in around 9:30 and after getting the dog, cat and boyfriend in the house I was finally able to look at my little girl. I haven’t seen her in about 16 months and it feels like a little puzzle piece has just been put in place. It also feels a bit strange. It almost feels as if I don’t even know her, a bit of a stranger in my house kind of thing. Hard to explain but strange none the less.

Things have changed quite dramatically in the last three months for me when speaking about my living situation. I was alone with Lucky in this big house for a little over a year. In January, Ryan, my nephew, moved in. with his cat, not too big of a change but a change. With the addition of two more, both humans and animals, it feels kind of confining. Sitting in my chair, as I always do, I feel like I can’t stretch my arms out. I’m not sure if it’s the addition of the houseguests or a metaphor for life in general.

I haven’t been in a good way for quite a while now and trying to get Maegan to understand without laying my whole screwed up thought process on her is quite the challenge. She’s only 18 and there really is no need for her to have to carry any of the weight on my shoulders. She’s already begun asking if I’m ok and I understand the concern. How do you explain that you just feel like crawling under a rock for the rest of your life to the person who needs you to stand up and be strong during what may be some of the most formative years in her life. Well, you don’t. So, you move along and hope for the best.

I want to explain the “not being in a good way” statement from above. I’m not talking about, well; I don’t really know what I’m talking about. A few years ago I wrote about this anxious feeling that makes me feel like I’m shaking uncontrollably. That’s what it feels like; only it feels like it’s my head that’s doing the shaking. It’s nothing different that’s going on, just with the sudden influx of people in my living space I don’t seem to have the room to do the “shaking” that I seem to be doing. Wow, that sounds so strange.

Well, it is what it is. God I hate that line. I mean, of course it is. I was in a class last week for work and whenever someone questioned why the company was doing something they thought made no sense, the instructor would say, “it is what it is”. Anyway, back to the anxious feeling. It’s like when you can tell that your blood pressure is rising except it feels like it’s always rising.

I got my car back the other day. The guy at the shop said I need new tires, great. So I’m driving home the other day and now there’s a noise when I touch my brakes, perfect. To top it off, the engine light came on the day before yesterday. Anyone got a money tree? Can’t figure out why I’m feeling this pressure, can you?

Taking Stock Again

It really has been an amazing couple of weeks. Steve went home the other day, which is quite an incredible thing when you think about it. With that comes a whole new set of thoughts and emotions. It’s a little strange to believe that he’s well enough to head home less than two weeks after getting a new liver. I’ve spoken to him a number of times since the surgery and he sounds better each time. It’s quite comforting to know that he’ll be home and presumably falling back into his life as more time allows more healing.

We’ve all heard the saying that life is short and this whole episode with Steve has really given that phrase new meaning to me. I’ve spent a lot of my time just looking back at who and what I’ve become after 48 years of never really trying to do anything. I can say that with less effort than any of you could imagine I’ve led, at the very least, a halfway decent life. I’ve lived in some of the more decent parts of this country, traveled to Australia, all over the Caribbean and all over this land of ours.

I’ve been married to and divorced from a woman who, at least I think, still cares a great deal about me. Helped raise three kids that I adore and have never really shown them how much and have a granddaughter that I’ve yet to see in person. I’ve got siblings that have never failed, in their own ways, to let me know how much they care and a mother who is simply the definition of the term unconditional love. My father, on the other hand, well, that’s a whole new post. My Mother in Law has never let me forget how much she cares, as have numerous other relatives. For all I’ve mentioned so far, I’m incredibly grateful.

Over the last year or so I’ve found I’ve got more friends than one should be allowed. For reasons I’ll never understand they each, in their own ways, have decided to allow me and my stunted life into theirs and seemed to have welcomed me with open arms. Yeah, I know, I’m putting too much thought into it but it kind of freaks me out. You know, what do they see that I don’t? It really doesn’t matter though because they seem to be in it for the duration and trust me, that’s a good thing.

So, it would seem, I’ve led quite the charmed life. On many levels this is true. Well then, why am I so miserable? Why is it that the only person I know that truly doesn’t like me is me? I’ve been looking for that answer for as long as I can remember and wish more than you’ll ever know that I could just stop thinking about it. Well, I can’t and don’t see myself ever being able to. That being said, I’ve spent my entire adult life, except for the time I was married, just trying to make myself fit into whatever my living situation has been. I’ve come to the conclusion that these thoughts and feelings simply aren’t going to go away. Not being one that would ever do anything to hurt those that care about me, please know that doing anything to possibly hurt myself or worse isn’t and has never been an option. What is an option is to find that “happy place” that I’ve spoken about and just live the rest of my life and hope to just settle into the most comfortable mind set I can.

There are a couple options out there and I’m looking very carefully at each and hope to have somehow decided what I’m going to do in the next couple weeks. Since being miserable seems to be a constant, I may as well find a place that I can be miserable yet, I don’t know, comfortable. I’m just not sure. Once again, I’ve got a lot to think about and to all my friends and family, please try to understand whatever decision it is I make. Your support has always helped me get through each day and I hope that continues throughout this journey.

It's That Jewish Thing

I grew up in what’s called the downriver area of Detroit. I lived in Trenton until I was 11 at which time we moved to Oak Park. Growing up Jewish in Trenton had its challenges, as there were very few of us around. There was, however, a synagogue in the city that served the entire area. Until recently I couldn’t understand why there would be a temple in the area. I found that when companies started making their homes in the area, companies like Wyandotte Chemical, many scientists were needed. Well, it seems that many of these scientists were Jews and when they moved into the area it brought up the need for a synagogue to be built.

Anyway, we were members of the local synagogue, Beth Isaac, and we stayed members until we moved away. I went to Hebrew school there, spent the high holidays there and literally learned what little I know about Judaism there. My brother Steve was also Bar Mitzvah there. My grandfather was also a member and would go to Sabbath services every Friday night when he was physically able to. I would usually go with him and we would always sit in the last row on the very left side of the place. The last row, like it was some big place, there were only six rows to choose from.

Well, as stated earlier, we moved away and would only go down there for the high holidays. After a few years, Grandpa died and we stopped going all together. I had my Bar Mitzvah at a synagogue in the north suburbs of Detroit, as did my brother David. I moved to California and honestly, I don’t think I ever set foot in a temple the entire time I was out there. It wasn’t anything I avoided on purpose or anything like that, it just wasn’t important to me. I married a non-Jewish girl, raised our kids how she wanted them to be raised and again, it wasn’t a big deal to me.

Since I’ve moved back to Michigan, as stated in numerous other posts, I’ve reacquainted myself to many of the folks I went to school with in the city we left Trenton for, Oak Park. To say there was a cultural difference between Trenton and Oak Park would be like saying the same about New York City and Butte, Montana. From being considered an outcast as the only Jews around to having a Cantor as a next-door neighbor was, to say the least, different. It used to blow me away when the schools would close for the Jewish Holidays in O.P. I remember missing numerous assignments that I had to catch up on in Trenton. Anyway, I digress.

The temple in Trenton was built in 1963, I was two at the time and certainly do not remember that as a time to remember. To me, Beth Isaac was always there. I don’t remember not going there as a kid. I do remember the place being vandalized and burned beyond recognition when I was six. I remember Mom driving us by it and what was left of the outside walls were painted with swastikas and other graffiti that was quite hurtful to both my parents and especially my grandfather. We ended up having our Hebrew school lessons at the local high school until the temple was rebuilt and the only thing left of the original building was a huge Star Of David that, though charred, was still in pretty decent shape. The star was hung on the wall inside the temple and is still there to this day.

A couple weeks ago I went down to Trenton for Sabbath services. They only hold them twice a month now and I had Mom check to see if there would be services that Friday night. I went down and was just enthralled with the place. It truly hasn’t changed a bit. I got there early and was met by the President of the congregation. He allowed me entry into the sanctuary and let me take pictures. I was able to check the whole place out and it really was quite emotional for me. He opened the Arc and I took pictures of the Torahs inside. My Grandfather donated one of them many years ago.

As a child there would be 25 to 30 people there on any given Friday night. There were only five, besides me, on this evening. I spoke to each of the people there. Some remembered my Grandfather and one even remembered him bringing a little boy with him whenever he would come. I let them know that that little boy was me. I sat in the same seat we always sat in and while seated I could just picture all the people that used to be there. I can probably name all the folks that sat around us all those years ago.

During the service we talked a bit about the things I remembered and I mentioned that it was quite a testament to the Jewish community that services were still being held there. They said that once a month a student Rabbi comes for services and the crowd is much larger. I’ll probably head down for that one of these weekends and I’m sure I’ll be called to read from the Torah. I’ll ask beforehand if they can use the one Grandpa donated, it’ll make it that much more special for not only me but also him, just in case he’s out there somewhere.

Let's Talk About Some Real Heroes

Steve called me yesterday morning while I was at work and told me he’d gotten the call we’ve all been waiting for. He had to get to the hospital for some final tests and if all went well he’d be on the table that evening. Well, needless to say, the tests did go well and Steve is now out of surgery and as far as we know, he’s gonna be all right. This whole episode has put so many things in my head and trying to describe them is no easy task.

The first thing that pops in today is the fact that for Steve to have a chance at life, someone had to lose their own. I think it goes without saying that I’m a big supporter of donating ones organs. I don’t know if the family of the donating person has any clue as to what they’ve done for my brother but I certainly do. If given the opportunity to somehow attempt to pay these true heroes back I would gladly spend the rest of my life in their servitude and it still wouldn’t be enough. Someone lost a loved one and allowed my family the chance of not losing one of ours. How is that not heroic? I only hope that the pain you feel at the loss of yours can somehow be tempered by knowing that what you’ve done has allowed me the chance to see and feel my brother again. My family and I are forever in your debt and please don’t think that any of us will ever forget it. Thank you.

Something else that’s floating around in the old noggin today is this incredible group of friends I’ve got. Some I haven’t seen since high school and others I’m seeing on a regular basis, yet all of us are in contact through this little box I’m writing this on now. The word gets out that Steve is sick and I get all this support from them. I then let them know that he’s going under the knife and the support only grows. I then let them know that he’s out of surgery and the groundswell of support that ensues can only be described as overwhelming. I know the same is true of my mother, Karen and David. You guys are our rock and the appreciation we all feel for you will only grow as time goes on. Yes, you are our heroes and no, the word is not used loosely.

Finally, I need to say a word or two about the biggest hero in this whole ordeal. Steve was literally given a sentence when he was diagnosed with hepatitis c a number of years ago. More recently he was told he had liver cancer. During the entire time, and I lived around the block from him for two of those years, I never heard him complain or moan about his situation once. He’s been such a stand up guy throughout that I don’t see how can you not consider him a hero. He’s my big brother, it’s just as it’s supposed to be.

Regrets Aplenty

So they’re starting to plan my 30’Th high school reunion. I assume it’ll be held Thanksgiving weekend and what’s that, eight months away? I bring it up, to once again, talk about what a freak I am. I’m already starting to stress out about the whole concept of going. I mean, come on, It’s February and I’m losing sleep over something that’s not gonna happen for another eight months?

I’ve been talking to a few people about the event and it’s so different the way they feel about it than I do. You can hear the excitement in their voices when speaking about it. They talk of how they can’t wait to see everyone. I get that, I really do. I, however, am not quite sure what words describe how I’m feeling about it. To say I’m scared is a major understatement. Ridiculous I know, but what can I tell you. I get nauseous just thinking about it.

I am now in contact with many of the folks that were in my graduating class and seem to be getting along splendidly with everyone, even those I had little or nothing to do with back then. I don’t think that’s so much the problem. Then again, of course it is. I mean obviously, as we all do, I automatically compare myself to these folks and when I do, well, let’s just say I’m not real proud of where I stand.

I didn’t finish school the “normal” way. I had missed so much of my senior year because of different illnesses that I had to drop out unless I wanted to do the year over again. I took my G.E.D. the day after I left O.P.H.S. and took a few courses at the local community college. I’m not sure if I would have ever gone to a university even if I had graduated with my class, I just never really liked school. Honestly, I don’t know how or what I would have gone into even if I had gone. Since my mid teens, after the pro baseball fantasy went away, I’ve never really had a goal or profession that I ever wanted to shoot for.

I moved to California after a year of living in East Lansing and going to another community college and did little to find a real profession while there. I started working for a grocery chain out there and, to paraphrase a Joe Jackson song, got to like it. I stuck around there for almost 25 years. I ended up going into management and did that, among other things, until my divorce. I’ve had a number of opportunities over the years to further my career in the retail management profession but my own fears, not my abilities, have stopped me.

The fears, though sometimes silly, have been with me for as long as I can remember. I look back at so many instances in my life where any kind of courage on my part would have or could have made a significant difference in the way my life has gone. I remember these instances so clearly and regret so many of those decisions that to count them would take more time than anyone has. Suffice it to say that having made different choices when the time came would have put me in a much different place both personally and professionally than where I’m at today. I know that can also be said about anyone but I don’t know their lives, only mine.

When given the opportunity to change gears or move forward with whatever company I was working for I always found reasons to step aside. Whatever the reason I gave it most certainly was just an excuse. It all goes back to that being “found out” thing I’ve written about in the past. Again, I don’t know exactly what it is that could be found out but whatever it is I think I’m more afraid of what I’ll find than what others would. I think that fear has shown itself in my writing of late too. Sometimes I think I really don’t want to “find” me anymore. what if I found that I like myself even less while doing this digging than I do now? Not sure if there’s a real answer for that one.

Man, I went way off topic here didn’t I?